


Only the Best

by nowafflecone



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Death, Funerals, M/M, Snipers, graves, it's sad, season 2 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7990309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowafflecone/pseuds/nowafflecone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An error occurs in Sherlocks planning of his suicide. </p><p>!One shot!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only the Best

"-it's my note-"

The last words I ever said to John Watson

It was something that we didn't account on, this wasn't apart of the fourteen scenarios that could have happened. A miss fire, It had to be, Mycroft will have the sniper dead. 

I was about to fake my death for the one man I loved but, some idiot shot him out of pure ignorance. An idiot with an adrenaline rush. A thousand thoughts went through my mind at once, ones I couldn't latch onto. I didn't see the bullet got through him, it was lodged in his brain. Definitely. 

John fell to the ground, face first. The blood draining from the back of his skull was red with mixtures of darker substances, brain matter. John was dying, and I couldn't do anything about it. 

I pulled my phone away from my ear and threw it behind me, the wind whistled softly, the air was tense. Everyone was waiting for me to commit my suicide. How was I supposed to do anything? John was dying. 

My body was frozen, my feet latched onto the stoney roof. It was quiet, eerily. London was never this quiet. Must be mourning John's death with me. My shoulders slackened pathetically, I had to do this for Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. 

It was fascinating, how the death of someone so close could affect another. How someone would do anything to bring them back, not for them to get hurt. We can't bring back John Watson. His chance of death is 95%, John would join that 95%. Indeed. He wouldn't be able to visit my gravestone, I would have to visit his instead. 

My heart rate spiked suddenly, and I remembered that I had to kill myself. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, making me forget momentarily about Johns death.

If I waited any longer the others would die. 

I spread my arms out and fell to my "death". 

\- 

Johns funeral was upsetting, from what Mycroft had told me. He spoke of how many people cried, upset over someone they would forget about. He said that Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade were there as well. Mrs. Hudson was hysterical, it had to be over how her boys had both died on the same day. Lestrade, of course, kept a brave face for the most part. It only wavered when he went up to see John. Mycroft had said. 

There were television reports on both of our deaths, describing how I had killed myself due to the bad publicity I was getting. John was in the same news report, but no one cared about John Watson. They just wanted to know how the great detective had failed. 

He also said that my funeral was upsetting too, I didn't understand why John and I had separate funerals. Mycroft had insisted. People who I barely knew were there, it was a big funeral supposedly. Those people didn't care about me, they just cared about how a gifted mind was lost. I didn't care too much to listen in on what Mycroft had to say about my funeral. I would have been fine if it was just Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and John. 

But it wasn't and never would be again 

I visited John's grave, they buried him under a tree. Of course they did, always the best for John. He needed a place that was shaded where he could read his dumb books and where he could feel the cold wind on his face. John deserved best. 

I sat down on my feet in front of John. His body was lying right under me. There was a bouquet of lilacs to my front and bright green grass to the left and right sides. I felt vulnerable in this moment. 

I was numb after John was finally declared dead. I could still hear his voice in the back of my mind, it was controlling me. Him calling out my name was the center of my dreams—or nightmares. 

I pressed my hand to the shiny black stone, my grave wasn't too far away. They were the same, the only difference being the names on them. I looked down at the lilacs, then back to the stone. "John, I'm not dead." My voice sounded weird, foreign, like I shouldn't be using it. 

"We had a plan, but the man who killed you, ruined it all. He was a trigger-happy idiot." I rolled my eyes, it wasn't like he could hear me. It was idiotic to be talking to a headstone of the dead. Somehow, it made it better. 

I could hear Johns reply. "Yeah he was. It wasn't like I wanted to die." Then he would roll his eyes, his disgusting jumpers bunching up at the armpits. 

John's pour attempt at a joke was almost laughable, but I didn't laugh, this wasn't a place to laugh. 

I rubbed my thumb over his name, tracing the letters that would be forgotten on everyone else's lips but mine. 

"John."

"Yes, Sherlock?" 

I shook my head, trying to shake away his voice, his image. I needed a cigarette. I stared back at the headstone, as if expecting him to come out from behind and yell "Surprise!" but that wasn't something John would do. 

John would stay dead. 

I let out a deep sigh and moved my hand away, I stood and stared down at him. Under my feet there was a box and in that box was John Hamish Watson, slowly decomposing. He was giving new life to the maggots and the bugs. I took a few steps back and flipped up the collar of my coat. 

I let out a deep breath and shut my eyes, going through some of the favorite times I've had with my favorite blogger. 

I soon realized that there was no way for me to choose which time it was, they were all my favorites. "Dull, sentiment." 

I could hear John scoff in the back of my head. 

I opened my eyes and looked up at the sky, then back down at where my good friend laid.  
"John, I think I finally need to tell you something."

"Yes, Sherlock?" 

"I'm not dead." 

John scoffed and laughed his ridiculous giggle, he stole the words away from me. "Obviously."

"That-That's not all." I let out a deep breath, feeling tears begin to cluster and my throat began to close up. 

"What is it?"

"I love you, John Hamish Watson."

I turned around and walked away from his grave, if he were here John would be standing in shock at my admission. It was better he wasn't here to hear me say that. 

After all, it was only the best for John Watson.


End file.
